


remember (the times we had)

by phcbosz



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Andrés Cullen, Crack Treated Seriously, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Martín Swan, Mild Smut, Minor Violence, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Stalking, Trans Martín Berrote, Twilight References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25716550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phcbosz/pseuds/phcbosz
Summary: Martín Swan doesn't expect to fall in love when he gets attacked by a stranger with cold skin and too sharp teeth, but life is strange that way. Is it that crazy to be glad someone almost sucked out your blood one night because that's how you met your boyfriend? He doesn't think so!orthe andrés cullen and martín swan au you didnt know you needed!
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	remember (the times we had)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mikethelipe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikethelipe/gifts).



> this is .... i wrote this .... i really did . wow . also just wanna say this is a crack fic meant to be taken lightly but andres IS a stalker vampire so yikes look out for that !
> 
> and also there are mentions of past bullying and a character gets roofied twice , but no rape or sexual assault happens !
> 
> and and also some suggestive stuff and some nsfw shit so look out for that !
> 
> the title inspired by [my fav song ever](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=4zGK0OY_5jA) pls listen to it it really adds to the vibe

Martín is pretty sure he is being followed… He tries to put it off as paranoia, but he can't quite shake the feeling away. Plus, the man isn't as discreet as he thinks he is, not with Martín having too much experience with stupid boys following him outside of school to give him a beating back in the day.

He knew he should have taken an Uber, but it feels too late now, yet he swallows, contemplates getting into a random building to avoid what is coming for him, and coming fast.

For real, the man's steps are very long and fast, and at this point, Martín isn't being followed, he is being chased.

His phone is out in his hand, 911 already dialed, just needing a push of his thumb for help to be on their way.

He doesn't quite know why he doesn't just call them right then and there, or call an Uber, or start screaming or something, because the guy is too close to him now, too close--

Well. Fear makes you stupid things, Martín thinks, as he starts running like a dumbass.

And it's only nature that what runs will be chased.

He hasn't even taken a few steps when the man catches up to him, and it's quite unfortunate for Martín that they are right next to an alleyway.

He feels the man behind him, tries to keep running, but the man reaches out, grabs him, pressing a hand against his mouth, muffling his scream effectively, and pulls Martín into his chest, harsh.

With the momentum Martín had, it's a miracle they don't go tumbling down. He is aware of the tears filling his eyes, and he isn't sure if he pressed the button before his phone goes crashing to the ground.

He distantly thinks of how if it breaks, he won't be able to afford a new one.

The man starts pulling him into the alleyway, and Martín comes back to himself, remembers he should fight, resist somehow, and he starts wildly flailing, trying another scream.

"Shh," the man says, right next to his ear, and his voice is low and husky, vaguely familiar, "tranquilo, Martín."

That doesn't help at all, the man knowing his name.

The man throws him against the wall, fully in the alleyway, hidden behind a dumpster now. He is a little gentle about it, gentler than the boys back at high school slamming him against lockers, but Martín isn't thinking about that right that minute, too aware that his mouth is free once again.

"HE--" he tries to scream, but the man moves faster than sound, faster than light, pressing his hand against Martín's mouth once again.

Martín feels the palm already wet with his spit from earlier, and that's when he realizes what is actually happening.

It isn't a dream. A stranger actually dragged him to an alleyway, has his head pressed against a wall with their hand on his mouth--

He refuses to cry, instead saving his energy and stopping his struggles, waiting for his eyes to focus through the tears.

The man in front of him, bathed in light from the street on one side, swallowed by darkness, simply looks dangerous. His brown eyes are dark, so dark they almost look back, and the lines of his face almost make Martín shiver.

He also smirks, when he sees Martín looking, and his teeth are not quite… right. Human teeth are not that sharp, are they?

Martín wants to start struggling again, but repeats to himself, save your energy, knee him in the balls when he isn't expecting it, and then make a run for it.

"There we go," the stranger says, and Martín realizes his voice is too familiar, maybe even his face too, a little bit, but every time he tries to remember, it's like he hits a wall, a wall he can't ever penetrate. "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you."

Martín scoffs against the man's hand, making him chuckle. "Yeah, I know," he coos, like he is talking to a child.

Martín doesn't know what comes over him, but a sudden rage fills his body at the way this man is daring to treat him--dragging him to an alleyway like that, and almost making him cry, and then acting like he is a cute baby? The fucking nerve, Martín thinks, biting down on the palm of the man's hand as much as he can.

The man pulls it back immediately, groaning, and Martín thinks this is it--

But the man simply slams his back to the wall again when Martín tries to push through. Martín is the one groaning this time, as his head hits the wall. He will have a headache tomorrow, for sure.

"I should be more used to that, I suppose," the man mutters, probably mostly to himself.

Martín settles for spitting on his face.

The man clenches his eyes shut, like Martín took a swing at him and he is in pain. "That too," he says, grimacing, and reaches into his pocket to take out a napkin, wiping his face clean.

At this point, Martín has accepted his fate. He won't be able to scream his way out of this one, so he doesn't try. His best chance is to wait for the man to be at his weakest, then try his chance.

"What the fuck do you want?" He hisses through gritted teeth, refusing to cower under the man's dangerous gaze, and his smirk with those too sharp teeth.

"Not much," the stranger replies, and Martín's mind vaguely recognizes the man's smell, and it smells like a perfume he knows too well, maybe used once open a time.

"Who are you?" He asks, then, egged on by the man not instantly killing him or being too hostile.

The man cocks his head to the side, his face softening, and Martín's heart stops for a second when he sees the look in the stranger's eyes. It's fondness.

Fuck no, Martín thinks, trying to will himself to breathe.

"You really think I will tell you?" The man asks, "come on, Martín. You're smarter than that."

It's the way he says Martín's name, and the way he reaches forward after that, his hand settling on Martín's cheek, softly caressing it, as if with… with love.

Fuck no, Martín thinks again, more loudly.

But it also gives him an idea, the way the stranger is acting.

Desperate times, desperate measures, he thinks to himself.

His hand is cold, too cold, like it has no heat at all cold, and Martín has to force himself not to flinch away from it, and lean into it instead.

Surprise colors the man's face at Martín's actions, and Martín makes sure to look all pretty, staring at the man under his eyelashes.

He reaches forward, slowly, and settles a hand on the man's chest, trying to swallow the bile in his throat, trying with everything in his heart to not just lean away from the ice cold touch.

The man grabs his wrist immediately all the same, thinking Martín is going to push him away, but Martín just grabs the soft material of the turtleneck, and their gazes don't leave each other for even a second, the air feeling heavy with just how intense it is--

Martín pulls the stranger in, and the man goes willingly, their lips meeting in the middle.

The man's hand on his cheek moves, going to his neck instead, a soft touch that makes Martín shiver, and he tries really hard not to think about what the fuck he is doing, kissing a stranger that was probably about to murder him and dump his body in the dumpster right beside them and--

Well, the man is not that bad of a kisser.

Still, Martín is chanting inside his head, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, and when the man finally releases the grip on his wrist, his hand falling by his side, probably, Martín opens his mouth with relief.

The stranger makes a low sound, maybe the beginning of a moan, and Martín thinks, yes, finally, as the man slips a tongue in his mouth.

Quickly, but with all the power he can manage, Martín draws his knee back, and hits the man as hard as he can right where it will hurt the most.

It's instant, the stranger doubles down, trying to groan, but not quite managing it with the air leaving his lungs, and Martín takes the opportunity to elbow the man in the back as best as he can, before pushing the man away, and running away like his life depends on it--

And it probably does.

He doesn't look back for even a second, not knowing if the man fell down or got himself together and is chasing after him, and when Martín finally makes it out of the alleyway, taking a right, he realizes he should probably screaming.

"Help! I've been attacked! Somebody call 911!" He is screaming at the top of his lungs, and just then, curiosity and fear wins over, and he risks a glance over his shoulder.

The stranger is not in the alleyway anymore, unless he is crouched behind the dumpster or laying behind it, struggling in pain, but Martín doesn't really think that's the case.

He watches a bat, black and almost impossible to see in the dark night sky, fly away graciously, and he shivers, uneasy filling every cell of his body to the brim.

He doesn't know why he does it but he just has to--he has to make sure--

Martín walks back into the alleyway, a calmness in his steps, and maybe he has gone insane. Maybe he lost his mind.

He checks the alleyway thoroughly, even with his flashlight on after retrieving his phone -which has a cracked screen, fucking iPhones- and there is no laying or crouching man behind the dumpster or anywhere--

He laughs, for a lack of anything else to do, because he is pretty sure he just almost got murdered by something not quite human, that can also turn into a bat and fly away at will.

Leaving before the police somebody has kindly called arrive, Martín takes a cab, and laughs and shivers all the way home.

*

Martín packs his shit up, takes what's absolutely necessary, calls in sick to work, and goes to stay at a hotel.

He doesn't know why he does it. It's the way the man said his name, like he has said it many times before, and the way he looked familiar, so familiar, like Martín might have dreamt about him only to forget about it immediately after waking up.

So, he books a room at a hotel, and something in his gut tells him he is doing the right thing.

The first thing he does is open his laptop and Google of course, because it's 2020 and he is not that much of a boomer.

He doesn't know what to type in though, all of a sudden feeling lost.

He thinks about the sharp teeth, the cold hand, the dark eyes, but all of that could have been his scared mind playing tricks on him, or just a shadow that painted the stranger's face wrong--

But then, he remembers the bat, flying away, once again familiar in a way Martín doesn't understand, and he thinks about searching the alleyway for minutes and minutes, not finding a thing.

He types in, fast, cold hands, sharp teeth, bat.

No results come up.

He has to get a little creative.

In the end, he gets some answers. Doesn't mean he likes them.

Fucking vampires. They are not real. Martín knows this.

He knows one hundred percent that vampires are not real.

He also knows what he saw that night, though.

They have cold skin because no blood -is that even possible?- bla bla, they are inhumanely fast bla bla, they drink your blood it causes memory loss bla bla, they pick their victims randomly most of the time bla bla--

The last one is what makes him stop and close his laptop.

If the stranger picked him randomly, how did he know his name? Can vampires read minds too?

His brain buzzes to a stop when he realizes what he was just thinking about.

Not only is he accepting the existence of vampires, now he is considering the possibility of them having psychic superpowers too?

There's something seriously wrong with him.

He gets up, wanting to drink himself to sleep but choosing to drink some good milk straight from the bottle instead.

He sighs, content, because if anything can make him feel better at anytime, it's milk.

Making sure to double check all the windows and doors are locked, he lays on the bed, trying to get comfortable and fall asleep.

But it's very hard, considering he sees the stranger every time he closes his eyes, like the man is plastered behind his eyelids.

He opts for keeping them open as long as possible before his fear finally drains all the energy from his body and he ends up passing out.

*

He dreams of the stranger that night, and the night after that, and the night after that, and the night after that--

He always wakes up in cold sweat.

In one of the dreams, the stranger is pushing a way too drunk Martín into the back of a cab, and ignoring the way Martín is slurring filthy words into his ear, ignoring the way he is absolutely hanging off of him.

He sees it all, in third vision, like he is god, or a camera following them around. They make it back to his house, and the stranger is so gentle with him, too gentle, pushing him inside gently, laying him in bed, and letting out a surprised yelp when Martín pulls him on top of himself.

The man is quick to react though, it seems he always is, reaching out and stopping Martín's traitorous mouth before it can reach it's target, the man's long, pale neck.

Martín whines, too drunk to understand why he is being refused when a man is literally on top of him, and the stranger hushes him gently, just like he did back on that day where he pulled Martín into the alleyway.

Then, the man pushes Martín's head to the side, leans down, and Martín only sees a flash of white, too sharp to be teeth, no way those are teeth--

He jumps up in the bed with a scream stuck in his throat as soon as those white things touch his neck.

He realizes he is crying, wipes the tears away angrily, and wonders just how traumatized he must be to dream something like that.

The next night, it's different. Martín dreams of a man bumping into him outside of his favorite coffee shop -his favorite coffee shop!- and he is ready to curse at the man, but when he looks up, he freezes.

Martín can tell even from third perspective that he finds the man handsome, with the sharp line of his jawline but the promise of his crowfeet, and the plumpness of his lips, the streaks of gray at the sides of his hair--

But he can tell, from the furrow of his eyebrows and the way his eyes squint, he is trying to figure something out, like he is trying to figure out where did he see that man before, for example--

It passes by in just a second, the man and Martín both jumping back.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," the man apologizes and Martín shivers hearing his voice. "Here, I have a napkin."

Dream Martín takes it with a small smile, wiping at the stain at the front of his sweater like it will help anything. "It's okay, accidents happen," he says, which is definitely not how Martín Swan actually treats accidents, unless they involve a hot guy in a three piece suit, he guesses.

"But please, let me buy you another cup to make up for it," and when Martín looks at the man's smile, seemingly genuine, he sees no sign of sharp teeth.

The stranger introduces himself as Andrés. Andrés. Andrés, Martín keeps repeating, like he might forget.

He dreams of a coffee date at 5 pm, and he is confused about a lot of things. Are dreams supposed to go on for this long? Be this vivid?

In the end, he watches with his heart in his throat as Dream Him invites the stranger back to his place, and feels nauseous when Andrés accepts.

He watches, horrified, as dream him latches onto Andrés' lips right after they close the door behind them, not wasting a second.

Andrés slams his against the door, gently, not using his superpower strength that Google wants Martín to believe he possesses, and Martín moans into the man's mouth.

When Andrés pulls back for a breath of air, Martín is a panting mess, and the stranger doesn't waste a second before attaching his lips to Martín's neck.

Real Martín knows what's coming. Dream Martín does not, throwing his head back like a dirty whore--by the way, Martín is never ever putting out on the first date ever again, thank you--

"I'm sorry, Martín," he hears the stranger say, a whisper basically, but filled to the brim with actual guilt, and he watches as Dream Martín's eyes pop open, before he wakes up in his bed once again, in cold sweat, and with tears in his eyes.

On the third day, he decides to go out. He is so traumatized he is fantasizing about a 'vampire' who attacked him, dreaming about coffee dates and breathless kisses--

He ignores Google saying vampires absolutely do not take damage from the sun, for his peace of mind, and convinces himself that Andrés won't be able to find him if he goes home before it's dark out.

He tries to enjoy his day out, he really does, but he is too jittery, too paranoid, keeps checking over his shoulder to make sure nobody is following, keeps checking the sky to make sure there are no bats flying around--

When he finally goes back to his hotel room, he is more tired than he can ever remember being, all that adrenaline draining his energy after a while.

He collapses on the bed and tries to have a sleepless dream.

It doesn't work.

He sees himself, walking home at night, in a scenario too familiar, and it happens all the same, the stranger dragging him in the alleyway, but after that, it's a little different.

"Shh," the stranger keeps hushing him, "calm down, Martín, calm down. Listen, I'm going to take my hand away, and I won't put it back there if you don't scream, okay?"

Dream Martín nods, his eyes screaming murder, and as soon as Andrés has pulled his hand away, gather all the spit in his mouth and launches it at the stranger's face.

"Shit, fuck, what's wrong with you?" Andrés asks, taking out his pocket square, his very fancy pocket square, and wiping Martín's spit off his face with it.

"What the fuck do you want from me, asshole?" Dream Martín asks, hiding behind rage, but anyone with a brain could tell that there is so, so much fear in his voice.

The stranger freezes, guilt coloring his face. He even takes a step back, not crowding Martín anymore, shaking his head, and Dream Martín looks confused, lost, somehow even more scared.

"I'm sorry, Martín," the man says, raising a hand as if to touch him, but he pulls it back quickly when he sees Martín flinch, try to lean away. "This--this was a huge mistake."

"You fucking weirdo--" Martín starts, but is cut off by Andrés.

"I'm so sorry," the man says, then, moving in a flash, and Martín wakes up with a gasp.

It's getting better each time, his after dream state. He is no longer screaming or crying, and he wonders how long it will go on, how long this will all just take.

That day, he decides to go to the library, because he has nothing better to the do.

He is searching for information about vampires. How pathetic can he get?

He doesn't find anything people haven't already said in Google, except for some old vampire names, the most powerful ones, but they don't help him at all, and he doesn't bother to memorize it.

When he goes back to his room, he spends the day reading books so he doesn't start thinking.

It's been 3 days. For three days, he has been staying at a hotel room, avoiding all his friends and his work, and he doesn't know how reasonable he is being.

Just because the stranger knew his name doesn't mean the stranger knew him, does it? And it certainly doesn't mean the man will start looking for him again.

But then, he is a loose end that must be tied off right? He saw and he survived and he knows now, and he really doesn't think the stranger would be the type to just allow that--

It takes him a while to fall asleep, and he is thinking about going back home the whole time.

He doesn't dream about that, of course. He dreams about the stranger.

This time they're at a club, and it's all going smooth and easy, except for the part that he is dreaming about grinding against a man that attacked him a few nights ago.

It's scary how used to he is getting at it. They make their way to the bathroom, and into a stall, just kissing and grinding, and Andrés is touching him everywhere, his hips, his arms, his neck, caressing his cheek, running his hands through his hair--

At one point, it even looks a lot like Andrés is basically cuddling him while standing and kissing, the man all but hugging Martín like he wants to press Martín against his chest and swallow him whole.

Dream Martín doesn't seem to mind though, just pressing into the touch, and making small noises of appreciation.

Then, it happens. "Martín," the stranger moans against his mouth, and dream him just freezes.

He pulls back after a second, and Andrés stops too, feeling the change in the air.

"I never told you my name," Dream Martín says, and Real Martín realizes that's true.

The stranger just stares at him for a second, all wide eyes. "I'm pretty sure you did," he settles for saying in the end, his hand still on Martín's neck, like he is afraid if he stops touching Martín, he will disappear or something.

"And I'm pretty sure I didn't," Martín replies, his eye flicking to the lock on the door, taking a tiny step back in the stall, putting as much distance as he can between himself and the man.

"Fuck," Andrés groans, taking a step back too, looking pained.

Dream Martín swallows. "I'm just going to leave," he says, reaching out for the lock, but with lighting speed, the stranger grabs his wrist.

The air gets heavy, and it's too quiet, even though someone is washing their hands right outside the door, it's like all sounds are muffled.

"Let go of me," Martín hisses, voice strong and not wavering but Martín knows himself, can tell he is getting nervous.

Then, "I'm afraid I can't do that, Martín," Andrés says, and Martín sees the familiar flash of white, watches as Dream Martín bangs his head against the door trying to get away as the man leans forward, going for his neck, and he wakes up in his bed, slowly blinking himself awake.

He is sweaty. And he is aware something is very, very wrong.

"I can hear your heartbeat," the familiar voice that has been haunting his dreams says, and Martín lays very still, partly because he is frozen, partly because he wants to pretend if he stays very still, the man will just leave. "I can tell you're awake, Martín."

He opens his dry mouth, and tries to take a deep breath, slowly sitting up on the bed, feeling his whole body tremble.

"I'm sure you have questions," the stranger says, sitting at the armchair facing the bed, and he looks just the same as Martín remembers, the way Martín has seen in his dreams. "You don't need to be afraid--"

Martín scoffs. Feels the stranger smirk more than he sees it. "Yeah, I have one question in particular, asshole," he starts, licking his lips, "what do you fucking want from me?"

"That, I'm afraid, does not have an easy answer," the man replies.

"Yeah, try me," Martín bites out, throwing the covers off and standing up, feeling too nervous to just sit on the bed like that. "I know what you are."

He's just pushing his luck at this point, basically telling the man, if you weren't actually planning on murdering me, you should reconsider.

His own stupidity surprises him sometimes.

The stranger stands up too, and Martín forces himself to be still, not take a step back, not cower in fear--when facing a predator, show that you're not afraid.

"You do?" The man asks, almost mockingly.

Martín scowls, feeling sweat run down his back. "You're--you're impossibly fast and strong... Your skin is pale white and-- and ice-cold. Your teeth, they--they get sharper. I've seen you turn into a bat and fly away!"

Now that he says it out loud, it's finally hitting him, what's really happening, what's about to happen--

"Say it," the stranger challenges, taking a step forward.

Martín forces himself to swallow.

"Say it!" The man pushes, taking another step forward, "out loud!"

"A vampire!" Martín all but yells, clenching his eyes shut as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Silence, for a few seconds. The only sound Martín can hear is his heart right beside his ear, trying to beat out of his chest.

The stranger huffs out a sound, maybe the beginning of a chuckle. "I've always known you're too smart for you own good," he says, and Martín opens his eyes.

There's still a quite bit of distance between them, plus the bed like a protective wall as if Andrés couldn't just jump over it, yet Martín feels like they are too close, he feels like he can't quite breathe.

"Relax, Martín," the man says, his voice silky again, "I'm not here to hurt you."

"Why are you here, then?" Martín snaps, trying to stop his hands from shaking by clenching them into fists.

Andrés just stares at him for a second, the room dark, but Martín can still tell the way the man's eyes are shining, before Andrés turns away. "I believe you deserve some answers."

"What kind of answers do you have?" He asks, "because if you're here to give me a history lesson about vampires and how I shouldn't fuck with you, trust me, I don't need it. I won't tell anyone, not like they would believe me anyway, I just want you to leave me the fuck alone and we can--we can pretend this never happened--"

"Answers about the dreams you've been having," the stranger cuts him off, then raising a perfect eyebrow, "or do you not want to know?"

The dreams, Martín thinks. Almost asks, how do you know about them, before it hits him, and his mouth clamps shut with a clink of his teeth, his vision getting blurry at the edges.

He forces himself to breathe in, out. Juts his chin out, and it's a challenge, it's him saying I'm not afraid, I refuse to be--

"How many times have we met, Andrés?" He asks, and it's instant, the way Andrés' shoulders stiffen, his whole body filling with tension.

He watches the man swallow. "More than four," he replies in the end.

Martín feels tears burn his eyes. He is thinking about a coffee date at 5 pm, one of the best he ever had, going back to his place with a man who he thought was just too perfect for him. He is thinking about a man hugging him in a dirty bathroom stall, as if with adoration, as if with love--

He thinks about a man following him home, shoving him into a dirty alleyway, and sucking his blood right beside a dumpster--

He blinks the tears away. "Why?" He asks, he has to know, because there must be a reason, why him--

Andrés sighs. "The first time, you were drunk, I thought you would be an easy snack--"

"An easy snack?" Martín hisses, feeling his whole body burn with rage.

"Not like that," Andrés replies, voice hardening, dropping an octave, and Martín has to suppress a shiver. "I thought I could get you home so none of the other guys could try anything--"

"How noble of you," Martín interrupts with a roll of his eyes.

"Will you let me finish?" Andrés snaps, and Martín snaps his mouth shut, but not before throwing a glare at the man. "And I would also feed, win-win, right?"

Martín doesn't know if he can really agree that feeding on someone's blood is a win in any situation so he doesn't nod or anything.

"But… There's something different about you, Martín," Andrés takes a step forward again, still too far away, and Martín is ready to scream his heart out if the man gets too close, "I've never… I've never tasted blood as sweet as yours--"

"What?" Martín asks. "No, seriously, what the fuck?"

Andrés rolls his eyes. "Of course, you wouldn't understand that," the man says, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and if Martín didn't know any better, he would say Andrés is… pouting.

"Sorry for not thinking your little story about finding my blood delicious is relatable," Martín snarls, then reminds himself he still needs answers, has to be focused. "But why make me forget?"

"It's supposed to be a kindness… And it's meant to protect our identity as well. You don't end up having an unpleasant memory of a stranger sucking your blood, I don't get exposed," Andrés replies.

"Win-win, huh?"

"It was supposed to be."

"What then? Why did you… Why did you keep doing it?"

Andrés uncrosses his arms, looks uncomfortable. "I wanted another taste. So I found you at the coffee shop, I just wanted another drink, but I noticed something--"

"What, another bullshit you're going to try to feed to me to make me feel special?"

Andrés huffs out an irritated breath. Martín tries to check if his survival instincts are still kicking and well, because they are not doing anything to save his ass right that second.

"You talk too much," Andrés replies, "well. I realized I can't read your mind--"

"Motherfucker!" Martín yells, grabbing the nearest object to him, which happens to be a vase, and throwing it at Andrés.

The man dodges it, of course, and the vase crashes against the wall.

Martín is already reaching for something else when suddenly he feels a breeze, and suddenly somebody is grabbing his wrist.

He definitely doesn't squeak. He makes a very manly noise, in fact. Definitely not a squeak.

"Can you not?" Andrés asks.

"Fuck you! You come into my hou--my hotel room, tell me my blood is so sweet you just had to have a second taste, and then tell me you can read minds but not mine? I don't want to listen anymore, you motherfucking assfucking cocksucking liar!"

Andrés drops his wrist. "Dios mio," the man says, sounding very tired.

Martín feels himself freeze, like he has been hit so hard in the chest all the oxygen in his lungs leave in one breath. Andrés opens his eyes, probably hearing the change in his heartbeat.

He’s so stupid, for not realizing it sooner. It hits him suddenly, all the dreams, all the ways Andrés has looked at him every time--

"You love me?" Martín asks, then seeing the man's face, almost starts laughing. "You love me!"

Martín steps away from Andrés to pace around the room, rubbing his face and running a hand through his hair.

"Martín," Andrés says, but Martín shakes his head.

"You fucking love me. Oh my God. This is so fucked. This is so, so fucked! I can't do this," then he turns to Andrés, almost angry, "what the fuck is wrong with you?"

Andrés swallows. "If you would just let me explain--"

"No," he says, and points at the man, "you're a lying piece of shit and if you don't leave in the next five seconds, I'll scream so loud, I don't even care if you kill me at this point, I just need this nonsense to end!"

Andrés just looks at him.

"Five," Martín says.

"I can leave right now."

"Four."

"You will never see me again."

"Three."

"I promise you that."

"Two."

"But, Martín, could you really--"

"One."

"live like this, not knowing all the answers?"

Martín swallows.

He knows the answer already.

"Make it fast, asshole, and skip the weird bullshit about my blood being sweet."

*

Andrés isn't fast. Martín can't blame him, the story is quite long.

In the end, it can be summed up as Andrés drank his blood, liked it, came back for more, realized Martín is special because he couldn't read his mind, kept coming back, and this lasted for a while.

Martín doesn't know what to say, at the end. He just swallows, going to his mini fridge in a daze and taking out his emergency supply of milk and drinking straight from the bottle.

He feels the beginning of a headache, and just wishes he were still asleep.

After he puts the milk down, wiping his mouth, he turns to look at Andrés, finding the man already staring at him.

"Why are you here now, then?" He asks, crossing his arms. "For another taste?"

Andrés licks his lips, eyes slipping to Martín's neck for a second before he shakes his head, looks away, guilt coloring his face, and Martín shivers.

"No. I came here to offer you a choice," the man says, taking a deep breath. "I can make you forget all of it, each and every piece, and then get out of your life, you will never see me again--"

"Why the fuck would I want to forget?" Martín interrupts, "and how do I know you will keep your promise? How do I know you don’t want me to forget everything so I will be defenseless next time?"

"Martín," Andrés says, taking a step forward. "If I wanted, I could drink from you right now, make you forget everything, and leave like nothing happened, come back every night to do it again and again and you would be none the wiser--"

Martín shivers, his hands shaking, and the hairs at the back of his neck stand up in fear, his heartbeat picking up.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," Andrés apologizes, and a childish part of Martín wants to protest, lie and say he isn't scared, but god, he so visibly is. "But I won't do that, I wouldn't. I'm just offering you a choice. You can forget all of it, if you wish."

Martín licks his dry lips, clenches his fists. "I want to remember," he says in the end.

Andrés looks shocked, then shakes his head. "You don't understand," the man says, "the dreams will keep happening, until you remember each and every time, and it won't be pleasant, it won't get easier--"

"I made my choice--"

"If this is because you think I will come after you, I promise I won't--"

"You said it's my choice," Martín snaps, raising his voice, and Andrés shuts up. "Well I've made it."

Andrés sighs, rolls his tongue around in his mouth, and Martín wonders if his teeth are normal or sharp right that second. Probably normal.

"You don't want to remember that, Martín," the man says in the end.

Martín juts his chin out, a challenge. "Well, I don't want to forget either," and then he realizes that sounds a little wrong, so he rushes to correct himself. "Forget parts of my life, that is."

"I understand," Andrés nods, then a silence falls.

They stand there like that, and Andrés looks quite like a sim, with his hands by his sides like he doesn't know what to do with them.

A few seconds pass before Martín clears his throat. "Are you going to fly out of the window?"

"What?" Andrés asks, shaking his head, "couldn't I just use the door?"

"Of course, sure, I just thought you would--well. Never mind."

"No, no--do you--do you want me to fly out of the window?"

Martín feels himself blush. "No! I don't care either way as long as you leave, okay, motherfucker."

"Okay then," Andrés nods, then points a thumb at the window, "I'm just going to…"

Martín nods. "Yeah, sure, of course. Go ahead."

He watches as Andrés opens the window, can't quite hide the raw interest in his eyes, his mouth wide open.

The man turns to him, right before, and he looks quite sad, his eyes old and lightless. "Goodbye, Martín," Andrés says, and jumps off.

Martín yelps, running towards the window on reflex, like he might be able to catch the man, but he stops in his tracks when he hears a flap, and a bat rises from below his window, right to his eyeline, and flies away.

He licks his lips. Looks at his bed. How do you just go to sleep after that?

*

Andrés is right, of course. The dreams don't stop, and they certainly don't get any more pleasant.

Each time, Martín wakes up with a feeling of wrongness, like he just forgot something very important, and that's probably his brain telling him there is much more he has to dream about.

He considers taking time off work again, going to sleep the whole day, waking up, and then going back to sleep, only to get it done with, but he is an adult. He can't just do that.

But after a while… Things get a little interesting.

In one of the dreams, Martín almost gets robbed, only to be saved by Andrés, like the man is his guardian angel.

"You okay?" Andrés asks him, and Martín shakes off invisible dust from his clothes.

"Yeah, thanks," he says, without looking up, "I totally had it under control anyway."

"If you say so," Andrés replies cheekily, and that's when Martín looks up, eyes widening. He takes in the man's face in first, his eyes, his plump lips, his smug grin, before his gaze travels up and down, twice, and then he licks his lips.

Not Dream Martín rolls his eyes. Every fucking time.

"I suppose you don't need me to walk you home, then?" Andrés asks, the fucking bastard.

Dream Martín shakes his head. "Well, it's not that far away, and I could properly thank you with a drink."

Andrés licks his lips, pretending to consider it, before he holds out his hand. "I'm Andrés."

Martín takes it, and from the way his eyes widen even more, Real Martín guesses he feels the chemistry as soon as their skin makes contact. "Martín," he replies, smirking.

They make it home, barely finish their drinks before Martín is on top of Andrés, trying to eat the man's face.

Jesus, Martín thinks, maybe I am the vampire. It feels weird to watch, like it's a porno, but it's him, and Andrés, which is weird, but not that much, if Martín thinks really hard about it.

He watches as he clumsily comes out, before things get too far, and Real Martín nods approvingly at the way Andrés accepts it without even batting an eye.

It's fast and messy, a little desperate.

After they finish, Martín is trying to catch his breath, when Andrés leans towards his neck, and Real Martín stiffens, ready to wake up--

But Andrés just buries his face there, inhales, his arms tightening around Martín's waist, too much like hugging.

Dream Martín doesn't seem to mind, though, too fucked out to care.

He does open his eyes and stiffen when he hears Andrés take a deep breath, though, because it sounds a little watery.

"You okay?" Martín asks.

Andrés doesn't lift his head, so Martín runs a hand through the man's hair, feels the way he leans into it, shivering.

Real Martín shivers too.

"Of course," Andrés replies after a beat, "never been better."

"Good," Martín accepts, "we are all sticky. Want to join me in the shower?"

Andrés finally lifts his head, and his eyes are teary, his smile wavering. "There's nothing I would want more, cariño," he says, and then leans forward again, and Martín stiffens, ready--

But the man just presses a kiss, feather light, right on Martín's pulse point, and Real Martín can almost feel it, he can almost feel it--

He wakes up gasping.

Suddenly, he feels too cold, too lonely, the bed too big, and he thinks about how not fair it is that he got to feel those lips against his skin once, not trying to bite, only trying to kiss, but he forgot about it, how could he forget something like that--

He is losing his mind.

*

Martín needs to stop going to clubs and getting drunk, he realizes, as he watches himself flirt with a man quite younger than him, throwing back shot after shot.

Dream Martín doesn't realize it, but Real Martín stiffens, feels bile rise in his throat, as the man slips something in his drink before turning back and offering it to Martín with a charming smile.

It's almost scary, how fast Martín thinks it's okay. Andrés will save me.

He is losing it.

But in the end, he turns out to be right. The dream cuts, almost like Martín's brain is losing footage, and he guesses that must be when he passed out.

When he takes in the scene again, the motherfucker is nowhere to be seen, only Andrés, standing in the corner of the room, staring at an only barely awake Martín.

"Ugh," Dream Martín groans, hands trying to press against his face, but his body refusing to cooperate, too drained of energy.

"Shh," Andrés whispers into the quiet night air, and Dream Martín doesn't even stiffen, too lost in himself to be scared. "Go back to sleep, cariño."

Andrés is moving closer to the bed, one step at a time, and Dream Martín tries to sit up, only to fall back down.

"It'll be okay," Andrés says, "it's okay, mi amor."

He is right beside the bed, then. He leans down, his hand going to Martín's hair, sweeping the sweaty strands back from his forehead, so gentle, gentle in a way nobody has ever been with Martín ever since Mirko in high school.

"I've got you," Andrés whispers, voice dripping with something Martín is afraid to name, "you're safe now."

Martín wakes up, gasping and struggling to breathe.

"Shit, fuck," he mutters to himself, looking around the room to make sure nobody is around.

He doesn't know why that dream ended that way. Maybe because he passed out again, and Andrés drank from him while he was asleep--

"You're safe now," the man's voice echoes in his head, and Martín shivers, pulling his pillow to his chest and pressing his face into it.

"Fuck," he mutters, feeling tears burn in his eyes.

It would be just his luck that somebody actually managed to fall in love with him, but they're a creepy stalker vampire.

*

After a while, Martín gets used to the dreams.

Before he goes to bed, he is thinking of Andrés, and what the man will do this night. He is watching the dreams, rolling his eyes, huffing out amused breaths, smiling softly sometimes--

He doesn't think of it as a big deal, until one morning he wakes up, and realizes he didn't dream.

*

Coworkers at work don’t point out his mood, they're probably used to him storming around the campus with murder in his eyes--

But it strikes Martín only then and there that he truly doesn't have anyone.

He doesn't have any friends, he only has coworkers he goes out with for a couple of drinks from time to time.

He definitely doesn't have a family.

He doesn't have a boyfriend for sure, only men he sleeps with to get the poison out of him, only to forget their names after a day or so, that is, of course, if he even remembers their name in the morning.

He doesn't even have a pet.

He is all alone in the world, and now, he doesn't even have his weird memory-dreams of all the time a stranger that is a vampire has sucked his blood--

And he is upset about that.

He truly is pathetic.

*

That night, Martín tells himself that maybe it was just a one time thing, maybe the dreams will continue now, but he knows that that was it.

A few weeks have passed already, and that matches up with Andrés' storyline--

That's all the times they've met only for Martín to forget every time.

He won't dream of Andrés, or see the man, ever again.

The thought hits him quite heavily and when he feels tears burning his eyes, he swipes at them angrily, feeling ashamed.

When he sleeps, he doesn't dream.

*

It only takes two days for Martín to realize what he must do. He calls in sick to work.

And hits the library.

He is looking for anything, anything at all that might help him, going through all the books, old and new, but there's nothing--

There's nothing.

He desperately wishes he at least knew Andrés' last name because surely then he would just be able to search it up like a normal person and not go through encyclopedias that are older than him--

But then. He really doesn't think Andrés is the type to use social media anyway.

*

The next day, he has a new mission. He finds some forums on the internet, people who are obsessed with these 'creatures of the night' people who know very much about them--

Somehow, he ends up in a cult meeting, people wearing fake fangs and pretending to drink each other's blood.

He looks at the cup when it's offered to him, sniffing at it. It does smell like blood. It looks like it too. But looking at the person offering him the blood -a 15 year old kid- he knows it isn't.

Martín doesn't drink the fake blood, of course.

He goes home thirsty and disappointed.

*

It takes him a few days to come up with a new plan, because at this point, he misses Andrés, like they knew each other once upon a time, and he just knows he has to find the man--

The plan is genius and totally bullet proof.

*

Ever since Andrés, Martín has avoided clubs. He realizes he doesn't miss them that much after all, strolling in to the place with his head held high and his back straight.

He did his best to look younger than he is today, wearing dark eyeliner, his hair messy and not styled in it's usual way, more like he just rolled out of bed, and he is wearing a crop top, with his tightest jeans.

An easy snack, as Andrés once called it.

He doesn't stop for a minute to think about what he is actually doing, he doesn't allow himself.

Now, he has no idea how this is all going to work out for him. He takes a seat at the bar, and looks around, wondering if it will even work out in the first place--

Soon enough, a man, older, even older than Martín, slides besides him, his cologne heavy and expensive.

Martín looks up from beneath his eyelashes, and the man is quite handsome, he will give him that.

"Can I buy you a drink, baby?" The man asks, voice silky.

Martín rolls his eyes internally. Normally he would appreciate the attention but right that second, he is on a mission--

"Andre," the man calls to the bartender, and the poor kid drops what he's doing immediately to rush to the man. "Get my friend here another of those fruity things and my usual for me."

Oh, Martín thinks. Oh. Jackpot.

He makes a show of checking out the man, licking his lips, before he bats his eyelashes, trying to be as pretty as possible.

"I'm Martín," he slurs, acting drunker than he is.

"Your name is almost as pretty as you," the man replies, avoiding introducing himself, and Martín thinks what a motherfucker, but on the outside, he just giggles.

The man keeps buying him drinks, and Martín keeps acting drunker than he is, until the man makes a sign at Andre, and gets up.

"I think you've had enough for today, Martín," the man says, pulling him to his feet.

Fucking bastard, Martín almost snarls, but he is on a mission, he is on a mission, so he just drapes himself over the man, like he can't quite stand up. Buries his head into the man's neck. "You smell so good," he slurs.

When they start walking, the guy all but dragging him away with how drunk Martín pretends to be, Martín realizes one mistake.

He is drunker than he originally thought. His vision is blurry, and his reaction time has slowed down very much, plus, his feet don't quite seem to be cooperating with him--

A cold shiver goes down his spine, a dangerous thought entering his mind: what if Andrés doesn't come?

They are outside now, waiting for a cab, but Martín all but falls to his knees, heaving, the cold air doing nothing to help.

He has to throw up, he really has to throw up, but he can't.

The stranger pulls him back up effortlessly, because Martín goes along, stands up, knows if he resists the man will have no hesitation in breaking his arm or something--

He knows this club's fame, he knows what goes on in there, what happens to men who get too drunk, and he doesn't know why this seemed so smart in the first place--

"No, let me go," he says, pulling his arm, but the vodka is finally hitting him, his movements sluggish.

"I'm just going to get you home, Martín," the man replies to that, looking shocked at the way Martín sobered up so quickly, but still satisfied with how drunk he is--

Because they both know Martín is in no state to fight back.

"I'm ruined, you bastard, look at me," he says. Ruined. It's not quite the word he was going for but his brain refuses to work so nobody can blame him. "I'll scream if you don't let me go--"

The stranger looks at him with murder in his eyes, and Martín can tell how dangerous it is even with his blurry gaze. "I dare you to try."

Martín shivers. Tries to take a deep breath, but it gets stuck in his throat like a lump when he sees the yellow of the taxi nearing them--

In a desperate attempt, he pulls his arm away harshly, and turns to run away, but the stranger is too quick, grabs him by the back of his crop top, pulls, only to let go so suddenly that Martín flies forward with his own momentum, tripping over thin air, and falling down.

He is too drunk, so he is too slow to act, putting out his hand in front of him too late, and he basically head-butts the pavement.

He is pretty sure he blacks out for a few seconds there, and when he opens his eyes again, the man is pinned against the taxi, another figure standing over him, close to his ear, whispering something--

His head is bleeding, he is pretty sure, as he blinks blood away.

Getting up turns out to be impossible, and for his tries he only manages to fall back again, this time hitting the back of his head on the pavement.

He groans, blinking, and suddenly, Andrés is right in front of him, looking down with his eyes huge and concerned.

At this point, Martín is sure he must have been drugged. There is no way he is this drunk.

"Andrés," he whines, reaching forward.

"It's okay, Martín," Andrés says, smiles at him, all soft and gentle, the way Martín likes. "I've got you."

"You're safe now," the phrase echoes in Martín's head, but Andrés doesn't say it.

Just pulls Martín up, gently, half carries him to the cab. The stranger is on the ground, sobbing his heart out, rocking back and forth, and there is some blood pooled around him too--

Martín looks away, only because the image satisfies him too much.

He doesn't remember anything from the taxi ride, when he finally comes back to himself, they're in the elevator, going up to his floor.

His head is buried in Andrés' chest, and he must be getting blood on it, but he can't help but lean in even more, inhaling the scent he has somehow come to known and miss.

Even from the haze in his mind, Martín can feel the way Andrés is stiff, uncomfortable.

They make it into the house, and Andrés helps Martín kick off his shoes and take off his jacket, steadies him when he is close to falling.

Then, they stand there, in the hallway, and now that Andrés is right in front if him, Martín has no idea what to say.

His drunk slash drugged mind decides for him. "I knew you would come," he slurs.

Andrés inhales, looks away, guilt on his face. "I know," he replies, sounding tired. "I'm sorry."

"No," Martín says, shaking his head, but it makes him too dizzy, he almost falls down, but Andrés doesn't reach out to catch him, only moves farther back as Martín holds onto the wall. "I wanted you to come."

Andrés' head whips back up, looking at Martín with wide eyes, and Martín almost giggles.

"What?" The man asks, not quite able to believe it by the sound of his voice.

Martín takes another step forward, watches Andrés take a step back. "I wanted you to come and--" he inhales, "and save me."

Andrés shakes his head, looking pained, he keeps taking steps back.

"What," Martín says, "don't you want this anymore?"

That would be just his luck, really. And he wouldn't even blame Andrés for it.

"I always want this," Andrés is fast to reply, "I always want you."

Martín feels some kind of weirdness in his stomach and wonders if they're butterflies.

"You're bleeding, cariño," Andrés says in the end, when Martín just blinks at him.

"It's just a little bit of blood--" Martín rushes to comfort but Andrés hisses at the word, a not quite human sound, and Martín freezes.

"Shit," he says, realizing the problem.

Sweetest blood the man has ever tasted, and here he is, completely defenseless, and teasing the man with it.

"Yeah," Andrés replies, taking another step back.

"You can't drink my blood," Martín rushes out to say, just to make sure, because he can't forget Andrés, he can't forget this night or all the others and just move on with his life as if nothing ever happened, he doesn't want to--

"I won't," Andrés says, voice heavy and thick.

"I don't want to forget you again."

Andrés freezes, blinking at Martín, his face an arrange of surprise, joy, guilt--

Martín takes a step forward, feeling the funny things still in his stomach, and his purpose is to kiss Andrés, but it doesn't quite work out, he ends up doubling over instead and throwing up all over his hall carpet.

"Fuck," is the last thing he hears, before he is going down, getting closer and closer to his own vomit on the floor.

*

He wakes up with a groan, his hand lazily going to his throbbing head.

He blinks his eyes open when he feels something strange, and not his skin. A bandage, he thinks. Tries to remember just what happened last night.

Then, it all comes back to him.

Andrés, he thinks, and tries to remember everything, panics for a second when he can't--but it's all there.

He didn't forget. Andrés didn't make him forget.

Getting up on the bed slowly, he feels his head throb to the beat of his heartbeat, and it's not just his head either, it's his whole body, he is sore everywhere.

When he tries to move his arms, he hisses in pain, realizing he probably pulled something last night, or made a wrong move--

Probably when he was falling.

He takes off his clothes from last night, grimacing at the little bit of blood staining his crop top.

Pulling on some sweatpants and a comfortable t-shirt, he walks to the bathroom.

The TV is on, and Martín wants to wash his face at least, before facing Andrés.

Looking at the mirror, he wants to groan. There is the last nights makeup still on his face, and he just looks rough, like he hasn't slept in years, and then drank more than he should have, and then snorted some coke too--

It takes him a while to clean up without taking a shower, but in the end, he manages, and also brushes his teeth for longer than two minutes, and he is trying really hard not to think about why he wants his mouth to be as clean as possible and minty fresh.

He squares his shoulders, and walks to the living room.

On the couch is a woman. She turns to look at him, and he freezes right outside the door to his bathroom, ready to run back inside, but then what's he going to do, jump out the window? It's better to run to the door, probably--

Or he could try his change fighting the woman off, Martín has been bullied enough times in high school to know how to win a fight by playing dirty, and he's not sexist, but it's just a woman, after all, and he's a man--

"Good morning, Martín," the woman says.

"Who the fuck are you?" Martín asks immediately, looking the woman up and down when she gets up.

She has the grace of a cat, walking towards him, and Martín think he really could take her down if necessary--

"Andrés was right about you," the woman says, and it's the magic word, isn't it? Andrés. "You really are special."

"Yeah, yeah, sure," he replies, rolling his eyes even though it pains him to do so. "Where is he?"

"He called me last night, asked me to take care of you--"

"What?" Martín interrupts, thinking about how he risked his life pulling that stupid stunt, and for what? For Andrés to just abandon him with a stranger while he was fucking bleeding out?

"Relax," the woman says, "he left you with me because I'm the only one he could trust, probably. I'm what you guys would consider 'vegan', I refuse to drink human blood."

Martín almost says I really don't care, but bites his tongue to keep it in.

"What, you really can't control yourself around some blood?" He means for it to be mocking, but the woman just shrugs.

"It's hard, and it takes decades for a vampire to learn self-control. Andrés is quite young. Plus, you were bleeding a lot. I had to stitch you up."

Martín lifts his head to rub at the bandage a little, thinking how young quite young actually is.

"Well, I'm not bleeding anymore," he says, "And I need to talk to him."

He clears his throat under the woman's gaze, shifting from one foot to the other. "For… personal reasons," he tries to clear up, but that only ends up sounding worse.

"I see," she replies, "he told me you might never want to see him again--"

"I do--"

"You do have a problem with interrupting people, don't you?" She chuckles, and Martín rolls his eyes. "I'll let him know you said that."

"Can you also not read my mind?" He asks out of the blue, because it has been bothering him, thinking she might be reading his thoughts, and she does have a look in her eyes that makes Martín believe she can tell, one way or another, what he is thinking.

She chuckles. "We all have different powers," she replies, "but for some reason, they don't work on you."

"Right," he nods, and before he can stop himself, "what's your 'power?" It feels awkward to say it out loud, and Martín thinks it's weird how fast he accepted that vampires exist and he might be kind of obsessed with a vampire that drank his blood multiple times--

"You don't want to know," she simply says, and before Martín can assure her he most definitely does, or ask another question, she moves towards the door, "there's coffee ready, and I'll be sure to let Andrés know about the personal matters you wish to speak to him about."

"Okay," he says, watching her leave, and then feels like he has to add. "Thanks for… stuff."

She doesn't look back but he hears her chuckle before she closes the door behind himself.

Martín stands there, in the middle of his living room, and scratches his cheek.

He should call in sick to work, he guesses, and maybe he will finally be fired.

*

"Jesus Christ," Martín says, waking up that morning to see Andrés watching him. "How long have you been here?"

Andrés shrugs. "I like watching you sleep."

Totally not creepy, Martín thinks, as he gets up and stretches, feeling Andrés' eyes on him. He is just glad he slept with clothes on for once.

"I will make you a cup of coffee," the other man says, getting up, and Martín nods, watching him leave.

He takes a shower, brushes his teeth, and even flosses, and then puts on some decent clothes before he leaves the bathroom.

In the kitchen: Andrés, and a table adorned with breakfast.

"Woah," Martín breathes out in surprise. It’s been a long time since he has had breakfast at home.

"I love cooking," Andrés says, "it's a shame I can't eat anymore."

"You can't eat?" Martín asks, taking a seat.

"Anything other than blood makes me nauseous," the man sighs.

Martín frowns. "Blood does not make you nauseous?"

Andrés frowns as well. "Of course not."

Martín blinks. "Blood tastes like shit though!"

"To you, maybe," Andrés says, and then before Martín can speak again, "was this the matter you wanted to speak with me?"

Martín puts his fork down.

"No," he says, "I wanted to tell you the dreams stopped."

"I assumed so," Andrés replies.

Martín gets up. "But the thing is," he drawls, "I'm not sure I wanted them to stop."

Andrés blinks, mouth dropping open. "What--"

Martín walks towards the other man,  
with slow steps. "See, I think it's bullshit what you did to me," and Andrés tries to speak again but Martín doesn't allow him, "it's bullshit the way I kissed you more than once, only to forget how it feels."

They are so close now, only a breath of space between them, and Andrés is smirking, but Martín can tell it's unsure.

"What are you trying to say, Martín?" Andrés asks, voice all but a whisper, and Martín smiles.

"Shh," he replies, putting a hand on the man's neck, feeling him stiffen with the touch. Andrés is as cold as that day, like ice under Martín's fingertips, and Martín imagines how the touch must feel to him, like burning coals, maybe. "Relax."

And with that, he closes the miles between them, and their lips meet together in the middle.

Andrés makes some kind of noise as soon as they touch, and the way the man is kissing him back is something else. Martín can only describe it as desperation. Like a starved man.

The kiss gets heated, fast, with the noises Andrés is making, low and deep from his chest, and Martín panting and moaning, hands everywhere on Andrés, just touching the man, trying to feel everything, commit it to memory, and somehow, Martín ends up on the table, the glasses and plates clattering to the ground.

Andrés is between his legs, still kissing him, and the man doesn't seem to have any plans to stop.

"Fuck," Martín says, pulling back from the kiss, and Andrés doesn't waste a second, moves down to his jaw, then his neck, and Martín is too turned on to even be nervous about Andrés near his neck. "Fuck, Andrés--take me to the bedroom--"

And that's when Andrés freezes. The man kisses him on the lips again, short and sweet, just a peck, before he leans his forehead against Martín's.

"We can't," he says, "it's too dangerous."

"Um," Martín breathes out, "I'm clean, and I have condoms--shit, do you have an STD? Can vampires have an STD?"

Andrés chuckles. "No, we can't," he replies, and then pulls away from Martín, slowly, like he doesn't want to. "That's not what I meant."

"What? Don't tell me vampires can't fuck!"

Andrés just throws him a look, and Martín feels his mind draw blank.

"No fucking way," he says, not wanting to believe it.

"I'm afraid it's true," Andrés says, "it's not safe for a human and a vampire to engage in sex--"

"What, you got a magic dick or something?" Martín complains, "dick game so strong it will kill me instantly?"

Andrés blushes -blushes!- and looks away. "Well," he shrugs, "that's one way of saying it."

"Jesus," Martín says, and then feels himself freeze, "wait--but we--I dreamt about it--"

"You dreamt about what?" Andrés asks with a smirk that assures Martín he knows the answer.

"You know what I'm talking about, asshole," he replies, rolling his eyes.

"That was different," Andrés replies, and before he can speak again--

"Oh, shit," Martín says, "is this because I don't have a dick?"

Andrés' eyes widen and the man scoffs. "Of course not, Martín," Andrés says, reaching out to touch Martín's cheek, caressing it. "You know I don't care about that--"

Martín rolls his eyes once again. "I know that," he says, taking Andrés' hand in his own. "I meant is it because I'm trans that it's dangerous? Because I'm not against trying the back door--"

Andrés groans, pulling his hand back when Martín tries to pop a digit in his mouth.

"No, that's still dangerous as well," the man replies.

"Huh," Martín says, chewing his bottom lip. Is that inclusivity? Gay people get the same curse as straights, at least. Then, he gets a great idea. "What if I just blew you?"

The way Andrés' eyes darken with lust tell him everything he needs to know anyway.

*

They lay in bed, sweaty, and out of breath. They have been having 'sex' like teenagers, and Martín finds it hard to complain with how satisfied he feels right that second.

Andrés is always cold, and Martín leans closer to him, his sweaty and burning skin meeting the man's ice cold arm, and he hears Andrés hiss.

"Could you make me forget about all of this right now?" He asks, when he catches his breath.

Andrés stiffens beside him. "Do you want to forget?"

Martín scoffs. "Of course not," he replies, feels Andrés relax again, "I'm just thinking about how if you ever make me forget, I will have no way of knowing I forgot in the first place."

He can feel Andrés staring at the side of his face, the man's gaze burning, but he refuses to look.

"I wouldn't, ever," Andrés says, voice soft in the night air, "if not for you, then myself. I don't want you to forget me, Martín."

Martín allows himself to smile, then. "Good," he replies, and turns to look at Andrés, and blue meets brown, "I don't want to forget you either."

fin.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/transpalermo) if u want ? ig .


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